


More Than Just a Pretty Face

by The_Winter_Straw



Series: Straw's Super-Amazing Fantastic Quarantine Request Booklet Extravaganza [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Quill (Harry Potter), Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M, Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: People are full of surprises...and humanity.
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Character(s)
Series: Straw's Super-Amazing Fantastic Quarantine Request Booklet Extravaganza [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748251
Kudos: 19





	More Than Just a Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by rnckenzie on dA.
> 
> Prompt: N/A; sent in OC Bio.

Curfew had long since passed by the time Naomi Fitzpatrick staggered through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. Normally a very well-put together seventh year, the hours she had spent doing lines that evening had seen an end come to the multitude of spells keeping her makeup and dark, curly hair in place. Her robes were wrinkled, her hand bloodied, and her eyes so tired that the few lingering embers in the fireplace did little to aid her in finding her path up the girls' dormitories. She stumbled on her way there once, twice— _why_ did Granger leave these mounds of garbage all over the place like this?—then simply gave up. If Angelina and Alicia were still awake, Naomi doubted she had the energy left to explain her late return to them anyway. 

Groaning with exhaustion, she changed direction and heaved herself over to the collection of armchairs sitting near the cold hearth. _Just a few minutes_ , she thought. A few minutes to rest her eyes, then she would see if she could crawl up to her bed. Maybe _then_ she'd be able to handle her friends' worried looks. If not, well, at least she wouldn't still be down here, waiting for everyone to come down to breakfast and spot her looking like the sloppiest wreck this side of one of Professor Hagrid's lessons. Naomi slowly lowered herself onto the nearest chair— 

"Gaaaaahhh!" something beneath her cried. 

"Ahhhhhhh!" Naomi screamed as she launched herself up again, spinning about as she did. 

Apparently she need not have worried about falling asleep in the common room, for in the process of sitting down, she had very clearly sat on someone else. Their shared shouts sent her blood racing through her tired mind and limbs. 

" _Lumos_!" she and the unknown seat thief chorused. 

Two beams of silvery light cut through the dark of the room like knives. Eyes dazzled, Naomi had to blink several times before she could finally see who she had nearly crushed in her quest for a moment's rest. 

"George?" she asked. "What are you doing down here?" 

Indeed it was George Weasley sitting there, pressing his free knuckle into one eye and yawning fit to crack his jaw. 

"Having a near-death experience. You don't _look_ nearly as heavy as you actually are, did you know that?" he answered groggily. 

"Because I knew for a fact that that chair was already occupied. And I am _not_ fat." 

"I never said you were. I only said that you were heavy." 

"It's the same thing." 

"It's not, and if you hadn't just woke me up trying to squash me to death, I might have had the wits about me to explain how." 

Even half-asleep, George maintained he and his twin brother's famous irritating charm. Naomi watched as he rubbed the back of his already sleep-mussed red hair. It occurred to her then what _she_ must have looked like after the night she'd had. There was nothing to be done about her general appearance—but she hadn't bothered to bandage up her maimed hand either, and that was probably the worst of it. While he was busy stretching, she hastily doused her wandlight and stuffed the wand and her hand into her pocket. 

"You still haven't explained why you're sleeping in a chair in the common room well past midnight. Why don't we start with that?" she said. 

Some life crept into George's face, though Naomi could not see it as clearly without her own light fixed upon him. "Midnight? You mean to tell me you didn't get back from wherever you've been all night until after midnight? What about curfew?" 

"What about it? You know how Umbridge is. She probably _hoped_ Filch would catch me on my way back so I'd end up strung from his ceiling by my toenails or whatever she passed in whichever Educational Decree we're on now. Wait." Something dawned upon her in that moment, something Naomi wasn't quite sure she liked. "George, you weren't sitting here waiting up for me. Were you?" 

"You didn't show up for the DA meeting tonight." 

"Because I had detention with Umbridge, as previously stated." 

"How was I supposed to know that?" 

Pretending to think about this, she swept her gaze upward. "Oh, I don't know. You could try coming to class every once and a while." 

"Very funny. You're only jealous we ran out of Nosebleed Nougat before you could purchase a box." 

"Says who? I need to do well enough on my N.E.W.T. to make it into basic Auror training." 

"As though you're learning anything from that bint that's going to help you on the exam," George said with a snort. "Well, go on then. Let’s take a look at it." 

Naomi took just a split-second too long to ask, "Let's take a look at what?" 

George didn't have to narrow his eyes at her. She knew perfectly well how stupid she sounded voicing a question like that. What _else_ would he be referring to but her injured hand? Umbridge's detentions were no mystery to him; he and his twin brother had served _plenty_ themselves—or they had, back when they hadn't sprung up with a multitude of reasons to head to the Hospital Wing the moment that old toad opened her mouth. 

Still Naomi hesitated. _Why_ was something she did not much want to consider after her miserable day. Already the man in front of her had seen her entirely stripped of her usually flawless visage. There could not be much _worse_ that she could reveal to him. And yet the thought of bringing her hand back out into the silver light appealed to her not one bit. 

"I don't think so," she said flatly. 

"What?" George sat up a little straighter. "Why not?" 

"It's not any of your business what trumped-up charges Umbridge pulled me in for this time." 

"You can't _honestly_ believe that's what I care about." 

"Of course it is. You only want to make fun of me." 

"What's there to be made fun of?" 

"I'm sure what I did is nothing compared to what you and Fred could dream up. Obviously, I'm not _nearly_ as interesting as you two. So if you don't mind—" 

"I do. Just show me your hand already." 

A gleam came into his eyes that reminded her strongly of those that entered whenever Lee and the twins began plotting how to get around Hermione Granger's edict on not testing their products on first years. Something truly awful was about to befall Naomi if she didn't give him what he wanted. She didn't know _what_ , exactly, but she knew she wouldn't like it. One half-step backward was about as far as she got in an attempt to run before she lost her nerve. _George_ already had his wand out, after all. 

" _Fine_ ," she snapped as she pulled her hand free and thrust it in his face. "Happy now? I should have just risked going upstairs and having Angelina yell at me for annoying Umbridge again. I would have, if I'd known you were down here to annoy me about it." 

To her surprise, George had nothing to say in response to her tirade. He simply adjusted his wand to get a better look at her bloodied skin. A few minutes passed before he raised his eyes to meet hers. 

"What the hell is all this?" he asked incredulously. 

"My lines. What _else_ would they be?" 

"There aren't any _lines_ here. This is something from an Ancient Runes essay! I can't read a single thing." 

"I've had a lot of detentions lately." Naomi could not help the defensive note that crept into her voice. 

"And what's this?" George went on. His thumb gently moved to the edge of a shape at the base of her own thumb. "Is this a _heart_?" 

Heat crept into her cheeks. She didn't look away from him, though. Naomi instead raised an eyebrow and said a little proudly, "She doesn't bother checking what I write anymore. So long as my hand's dripping at the end of our time together, she just sends me on my way." 

George stared at her. 

"Er...could I have that back, now you've had your fun?" 

To emphasize her point, Naomi gave her hand a little tug. George let go of her at once without another word. She gingerly lifted that hand to her chest and watched as he turned away from her to root around in his robes. 

"What are you doing?" she asked when he did immediately not resurface. He didn't answer. "No. Really. I don't like the look of that. What _are_ you doing?" 

George rolled his eyes as he emerged, then forced a corked vial filled with some purple liquid into her good hand. Naomi waited for an explanation that never came. All he did was watch her expectantly, as though she would _ever_ just down any concoction either Weasley twin might hand her without explanation. 

"All right. You've piqued my interest," she said slowly. "What's this then?" 

"Something Fred and I cooked up during one of our experiments," he replied. "We get a lot of different injuries testing them. That one’s got murtlap essence in it.” 

Now it was her turn to look at him with wonder. _He_ wasn’t in Potions anymore. Neither Weasley twin was. "How do you know that?" 

"I heard Hermione talking to Ron on one of Harry's detention nights. Should help take the sting out—unless you're the kind of girl that thinks being silent through the pain makes her brave." 

Naomi's teeth found perch in her lower lip. George knew _exactly_ what kind of girl she was. Perhaps they'd never been the best of friends, but they did get along comfortably for the most part. After seven years of living together, eating together, and learning together, how could they not? A sudden temptation to ask him if he'd waited up for her because he wanted to give her this salve washed over her. 

"George?" she began. 

"Mm-hmm?" 

She couldn't do it. What if George said _yes_? What if he _had_ been worried about her when she didn't show up to the DA meeting that night? Naomi didn't have a clue what she was supposed to say in response to that. Instead of asking at all, she slipped the vial into her pocket next to her wand, mustered every ounce of sincerity within her, and said, "Thank you." 

George offered her a wide smile. "Who'd have thought some shabby guy like me could ever find something _you'd_ appreciate, eh?" 

"I don't think about you like that anymore," she said quietly. 

"Really? That _is_ good to know." He stretched enormously. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he leaped to his feet, sending the startled Naomi tripping backward to avoid a second collision. 

" _Now_ who's trying to kill who?" 

"Turnabout's fair play. I'd put some of that on before I went to bed if I were you. Angelina's less likely to lecture you if your hand doesn't look like a slab of meat when she sees it," he added as he turned his own wand dark. 

It really did seem like he was finished with her this time. One more stretch threaten to knock her away before George headed wordlessly for the stairs. She thought she ought to say goodnight at least, but she didn't have time to muster up the energy. He looked back at her the second he reached the door. 

"I'll see if Fred and I can't put aside a box of Fainting Fancies for you next time we make some. That way you can skive off without worrying about blood dripping down your pretty face." 

After this last friendly jab, he left her alone in the pitch-black common room. Naomi's gaze remained fixed upon the spot he'd stood in. The whole last thirty minutes or so hardly seemed real; the sudden silence felt so suffocating that it might have been a dream. Perhaps it had been...except the weight in her pocket reminded her that it was not. It also reminded her that George may very well be lurking just behind the door, waiting to see her make a fool of herself. She snapped herself out of her trance with a shake of the head as she pulled his concoction back out of her robes. 

Well, whatever else he said, he probably wasn't wrong about Angelina. Whatever was in the vial _looked_ harmless enough, too...but one never could tell when it came to gifts from the Weasley twins. Naomi very nearly tossed the object into the cold fireplace. Just as she lifted her hand to do so, however, it screamed in protest. Uncorking the vial and pouring its contents on the torn skin took such little thought that she hardly realized what she was doing until the act was done. A sharp intake of breath came after this revelation. She waited to start growing scales, or to have a very sudden need to run to the loo, or to be transformed into a skrewt, or for any number of "funny" things Fred and George might have decided to do to her. 

All that happened was that the pain in her hand subsided to a whisper. Nothing more. Nothing less. Naomi sighed with relief. 

"Thank you, George," she murmured. 

Then she made a beeline for the stairs herself in the hopes she could do so quickly enough to avoid hearing a reply. If George really was lingering nearby for some reason, he remained silent. Luckily, so did her dormitory. Alicia, Angelina, and the others remained fast asleep as she crept over to her four-poster bed. Naomi slipped under her covers, thoroughly exhausted by the day's events and very grateful she wouldn't have to explain any of them to her friends until they cornered her at breakfast the following morning. Her tired mind had time for only one more thought before sleep overcame it entirely: If George _did_ come up with a box of Fainting Fancies for her, she just might take him up on his offer to try one. Maybe it wouldn't be too awful to try a Nosebleed Nougat if the Fancies were out of stock. After all, if he didn't mind the way she'd look that evening, there was a chance he wouldn't mind the way she looked with blood dripping down her pretty face either.


End file.
